


Twenty-six

by Sira



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sira/pseuds/Sira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets following the letters of the alphabet, taking place during the prison era.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arachnophobia

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> If you want to leave a prompt for a letter, feel free to.

He’s never seen Carol look this way before, the odd mixture of amusement and disgust on her face making him stop in the middle of the prison’s common room. She’s sitting bend over a pair of his torn-up pants – the one that got caught in a fence during their last run - but she’s not moving, seems to be lost in thoughts.

“Hey, ya okay?” he asks and her head snaps up, a soft smile replacing the expression from before.

“Sure. I’m just taking care of your pants. You did quite a number on them.”

He doesn’t quite know what to reply.

“Just throw ‘em away. Will find myself a new pair next on the next run.”

“No way. We can’t afford to throw things away if we can mend them. Just…,”

She looks up and there’s a wicked gleam in her eyes that makes him want to take a step back. He doesn’t take the bait but he speaks before he can think twice.

“Just?”

“If you want to cuddle with something or someone, I think you’d be able to find someone willing inside these walls.”

He growls out a ‘stop’ and turns, her quiet laughter ringing loudly in the otherwise quiet room. This woman is going to be the death of him one day. He’s annoyed, embarrassed and still a small smile ghosts over his lips. They all don’t have much to laugh these days, so he’s glad she’s having a not too bad day and he’ll never tell but he loves the sound of her laughter.   
He’s about to make his way to his place on the perch when he remembers the odd look on her face from before.

He turns again.

“What were ya thinkin’ of?” he asks without preamble.

She’s surprised and she surely didn’t expect him to stay and ask her questions out of the blue.

“Thinking of?”

“When I came in. Ya didn’t even seem to notice me.”

She thinks about it for a moment, then her face lights up.

“I was thinking about Beth,” she says, looking way too amused, surely knowing her answer doesn’t make the least bit of sense to him.

“What about her?”

“Oh, nothing.”

He growls out, his patience wearing thin.

“Ya weren’t lookin’ as if it was nothin’.”

He can see she’s about to crack another joke and he speaks before she can.

“So what was it?”

“Well, let’s just say I found out a little secret about her.”

He’s instantly torn. His curiosity wants her to tell him but there’s a part of him that wonders if knowing any woman’s secret can be a good thing. It’s not that he ever quite understood women anyway. At the end of the day he’s got to admit defeat, though.   
“What secret?”

She grins, takes up the needle and begins applying a patch to his pants.

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, would it?”

“Am not goin’ to tell anyone and ya know it.”

“Now that’s true.”

“So?”

“So?”

He growls again but she speaks before he can unleash his frustration on her.

“Beth is afraid of spiders.”

He’s not even sure he heard correctly, it’s so absurd. Beth is young, but she still pulls her weight at the fences, Beth who not that long ago watched walkers kill Patricia and survived with her mental health intact this time. This Beth is supposed to be afraid of….

“You kiddin’, right?”

She looks up at him.

“Nope. I heard a shriek when I came back with the laundry earlier, found her cowering in her cell. When I asked her what was up she said there was a spider.”

He still couldn’t believe it.

“What did ya do?”

She hesitates for all but a second but he notices.

“I crashed it underneath my boot,” she says.

“Must’ve made Beth happy.”

“It did,” she says. “But don’t forget, you can’t breathe a word about it.”

“I won’t.”

This time he leaves without another word, his thoughts churning. There was a look of disgust on Carol’s eyes when he first entered. So is she disgusted with Beth’s fear of spiders or could it be she isn’t a fan of these harmless creatures either.

He knows he’s alone, so he doesn’t try hiding his smirk. Maybe he should go and find a little spider later, put it in Carol’s cell. She loves to tease him way too much and a little revenge wouldn’t kill anyone. And who knows, maybe she’ll be the one who needs some cuddling then. 

He laughs out quietly. It’s not the worst plan he ever had.


	2. Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl wakes up when Judith starts crying at night. Just a little introspective piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not really a happy drabble, but it fit my mood and the only prompt I could come up with for 'b'. Well, maybe 'c' will turn out lighter.

He’s awake the moment the first loud cry echoes around the prison. 

Judith. 

Since her birth none of them has gotten a single night of good sleep. He’s heard that babies tend to sleep through the night after the first few weeks but if that’s the truth, Judith’s never gotten the news. She wakes up at least twice each night, sometimes even thrice. 

When Lori was pregnant, he never considered what it would mean for all of them once the baby was born. It wasn’t his problem, right?

It’s pretty obvious now how wrong he was. Not that he blames Judith. Never her. The poor thing doesn’t deserve the life she was born into.

He knows nothing about babies, really, but that’s not a world for them. Judith deserves to have both of her parents doting on her, a comfortable bed in her own room, a secure future. Instead she’s growing up in prison, in a cell where they didn’t manage to get rid of all the blood stains from its former occupant. Her meals are mostly lukewarm at best and her mother is dead. One day – if she’s still alive by then – someone will tell her that she’s the reason her mother is dead and that her brother shot her afterwards so she wouldn’t turn into a walker.

It’s not fair, but no one ever asked any them what they consider to be fair. No one ever will.

The wailing is louder now, and he hears Rick murmuring, the other man’s voice tired. They all are. When the crying hasn’t stopped after another minute, he sits up, not surprised to see a shadowy figure moving towards Rick’s cell.   
Carol. 

It’s not long and the crying turns into soft whimpering, and he hears Carol telling Rick something, most likely to fetch a bottle for Judith. It’s the same almost every night. While they all take their turns with Judith throughout the day, it’s mostly Carol who puts her to sleep again when she wakes them all. 

No one handles her as well as Carol does. He wonders how she does it, if it’s simple mother instinct taking over. Shit like that’s supposed to exist, although he’s never seen real proof of it, least of all when it came to his own mother.   
While Rick’s gone, Carol starts singing a lullaby. He likes Carol’s voice, it’s soft and she knows how to carry a tune. When Rick is back he strains his ears and hears her telling him she’ll take care of Judith for the night, that he needs his sleep. It’s true but don’t they all?

Of course Rick doesn’t refuse the offer and soon after Carol’s back in her own cell with Judith. It’s the cell she’s shared with Lori.

She sings another song while she feeds the little girl. 

He doesn’t know why but he gets up, quietly walks over to her cell. It’s not as if he wants to offer her to take over. 

He stops just shy of the door to Carol’s cell, listening to her, wondering if his own mother ever bothered with singing for Merle and him. Surely not. 

The song over, Carol starts talking to Judith while the little girl makes little whimpering noises. There’s something off with Carol’s voice and it takes him a moment to understand. Carol’s crying. If he weren’t standing in front of her cell, he wouldn’t have heard it. It make him wonder how often she’s taken care of Judith and cried. 

He clenches his fists. Sophia’s dead for not even a year and here Carol is caring for a girl that has to remind her of her own. 

He’ll never forgive himself for not finding Sophia in time, even though he suspects he never had a chance to begin with. 

He can’t listen to this, turns so he can slink back to his place on the perch. After two steps he stops. He’s not a coward, damn it. Turning around, he steps into Carol’s cell. She startles until she realizes it is him. He doesn’t speak, not even when she averts her eyes, not wanting him to see her crying.

He’s not good when it comes to talking, so he doesn’t even try to.

“You should go back to sleep,” she says quietly, her voice rough from her tears.

He shakes her head, even though she isn’t looking at him. No, he won’t. He won’t let her suffer alone. 

He meets Judith’s eyes, who returns his gaze in the near complete dark. It’s as if some kind of understanding passes between them, which is ridiculous. Still, decision made, he sits down beside Carol on her bunk, wraps one arm around her shoulders. It’s awkward but he doesn’t move. 

For a moment she tenses, though then she releases a quiet sob, her body shaking slightly and he tightens his hold on her. 

There might be nothing he could really do for her, nothing to bring back her little girl to her, but he’ll stay with her for as long as she needs him to. It’s the least he can do.


	3. Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Linda who gave me the inspiration for this chapter (and made me buy a CD in the process). :) Feel free to dislike what the muse decided to do with it, of course.

He doesn't mind taking a second watch, actually loves the extra chance to get away from the others. There are only a few of them, but even so, the mindless chatter when they share meals in their common room, the general noise when the others are around, it gets too much sometimes.  
He feels he can't think when he's constantly surrounded by people. It’s one of the reasons he loves to hunt. Out there he’s alone with his thoughts. When hunting he’s able to focus, to completely immerse himself in the act of following tracks until he finds his prey. 

In contrast to popular believe, he doesn’t enjoy killing. He doesn’t have any qualms, life is about survival of the fittest, especially in the world they’re now living in. It doesn’t mean he likes looking into the eyes of the innocent before he extinguishes their spark of life, especially when it comes to large prey. They die to keep them alive. It’s simple as that, really.

So if he’s not out hunting, he’s glad for when it’s his turn in the watchtower. This is a close to feeling at peace as he’s ever known. 

It’s a silent night, with only a few undead pushing against the fences. They’ll easily be taken care of tomorrow morning.

He startles when the trap door opens and Carol’s head pokes in.

“Hey,” she greets him, and he doesn’t think twice but offers her a hand so she can hoist herself up.

“What’s up?” he asks when she’s standing beside him.

“Nothing. Just realized you skipped dinner. Again. Not that it was spectacular.”

She smiles at him.

“ Anyway, I couldn’t save you any but I got these instead.”

She offers him three granola bars from their last raid.

He shakes his head.

“Not hungry.”

The only light in the watchtower stems from s a candle at the back of the room, and it’s hard to make out her expression but he doesn’t really need to see her to know she’s not having any of it.

“You only had a bite or two for breakfast. Eat them.”

She just keeps up holding the granola bars out to him and he finally takes them, ripping open the first one right away.

“Have you eaten?” he asks before taking his first bite.

“Yeah, I did. Don’t tell Maggie but she doesn’t have a knack for cooking.”

He snorts, and she laughs out quietly.

“Sorry, I know that was a terrible thing to say,” she says sobering up. “I’m grateful she cooked. It gave me the time to do some laundry while Beth watched Judith.”

He looks at her while he chews.

She’s gotten stronger in these last months. She learned how to shoot, to defend herself. She’s taking shifts at the watchtower, helps clearing the fences. She would be just as good a partner for a run as Rick was or Maggie. Still, she spends almost most of her time here in prison, organizing, cooking, doing their laundry. Why? Heck, they all could very well do their own laundry.

So does she enjoy doing these tasks, or is it that she doesn’t think she could do anything else? He thinks of Andrea who was the first one of the women insisting to do ‘men’s work’ instead of puttering around their camp. Well, Andrea didn’t have decade old baggage called Ed.

“What is it?” Carol finally asks, frowning.

She crosses her arms over her chest, tilts her head slightly.

He stared at her for too long.

“Nothin’.”

He starts with the second granola bar, looks away. What is it about this woman that he can’t stop thinking about her?

“And here I thought you were about to tell me how lovely I look tonight with the soft candlelight and an almost full moon shining down on us.”

He swallows his usual ‘stop’, his groan. Since the first time it happened, when they were still on the road, she enjoys teasing him way too much. At least he thinks she’s solely teasing. It’s hard to tell with her.

Hell, he doesn’t even know what he prefers. That she’s only teasing him or that there is a grain of truth in what she says.

Knowing himself, he wouldn’t even know what to do with it, if she were indeed serious. What to do with her.

Still, he can’t deny it. He likes her. A lot. She’s the only person in this god forsaken place he can stand being around for any amount of time.

He turns to her, sees she has an eyebrow raised. Dammit to hell. Two can play this game, even though he’s surely about to get his ass handed to him.

“Don’t think you’re lovely.”

The small smile on her face diminishes, her expression carefully neutral all of sudden.

“You know I was kidding, right?” she says.

He knows shit. 

Although he knows he didn’t mean to hurt her.He makes a step toward her, stopping when there’s a bare two feet separating them.

“I ain’t no good with this shit.”

“What shit?”

“Playin’ game.s If you wanna tell me something, you gotta tell it to me straight.”

He looks away, raises his hand so he can chew on his cuticle. He instantly regrets his words, should have kept his mouth shut. He doesn’t even want to know, or does he?

A sad smile grazes her lips.

“Me neither.”

Their gazes meet and he finds he’s unwilling to look away even if everything inside him screams to run.

Of course she isn’t good with this. She spent the majority of her life with an asshole controlling her every move, beating her senseless whenever he felt like it. She learned how to hide, how to say what she thought said asshole wanted instead of saying what she wanted to say.

But when it comes down to it, she’s the more courageous of the two of them, and he watches her straightening, holding her breath a moment before she releases it.

“I guess what I meant to tell you is… I like you.”

She rolls her eyes as if dissatisfied with the way she’s explaining herself. He desperately wants to help her, but he can’t get himself to speak out.

She tries again.

“Sorry. Let’s try this again. I don’t know why, but when… when I’m with you… I feel a bit better, a bit safer, not so alone any longer.”

There are a thousand implications in her statement, although only one sticks out to him right now. She’s alone, has lost the only family she had. He still feels about Sophia guilty, always will, but he quickly shoves these feelings aside. They won’t help anyone.

She waits for him to say something, do something, the silence between them filling every corner of the room. For the first time in a long time, it feels uncomfortable, too many unvoiced thoughts wanting to suffocate him.  
No, he’s not good with words, but maybe…

He steps forward before he can think about it too long, but to his surprise she’s already a step ahead of him, holding on to his shoulders, her lips finding his in a gentle kiss that has his stomach in a knot while a shiver of pleasure runs down his back.

She pulls back almost at once but he’s having none of it, searching out her mouth in a kiss that is hungry, awkward but the best thing he’s felt in forever. God help him but she moans out, the sound reverberating through his body.

“Carol, you’re here?”

The voice of Beth has them part and Carol looks equally mortified and amused.

“Yeah, I am. What’s the matter?”

Beth opens the trap door, and the girl is looking at her with a desperate expression on her face.

“It’s Judith. I can’t get her to quiet down. Can you come, please? She’s never making such a fuss when you’re around.”

“Sure. One second.”

She turns to him for a moment, a soft, shy smile on her face.

“Don’t forget that last granola bar.”

“I won’t.”

He watches her leave, his heart still thundering painfully in his chest. 

What does this mean? Where are they going from here? What does she expect from him now? So many questions…

No, he won’t think about them just yet. He’s got all night, after all.

He’ll have that granola bar first, even knowing that everything will taste just bland after tasting her.


	4. Death

They have a lost another one. She doesn’t need to ask what happened, sees it on the faces of those who came back from the latest run. Six left, five returned. For a moment her heart clenches painfully in her chest, but then she shrugs it off. What else can she do?

Death is their new reality, a steady companion. You can be here today, gone tomorrow. At least this time they haven’t lost anyone she considers to be part of her family. She still knows the name of everybody living inside the prison, may it be former Woodbury residents or someone else that was brought in by one of their own, but she didn’t form bonds with the newcomers, not in the way she has with the people she considers her family.

“Who was it this time?” Rick asks, coming to stand beside her. She is on fence duty at the moment, but she stops what she is doing to face her friend.

“I…,” she thinks for a moment, then sighs. “Ashley.”

The girl had been only twenty. From what she had learned, Ashley had lived on college campus when the dead began to rise. She has never found out what happened to her family. Quiet by nature, Ashley had been lovely girl. With her reddish-brown hair and blue eyes she had reminded her… Another wave of sadness wants to overcome her, so she turns back to taking care of the few walkers, trying to pass the fences. 

It’s ironic that she refuses to think about the death of one of their own, while she is dealing it out at the same time. Walkers might not have any spirit, any soul left, all traces of the people they once were erased, but their bodies are still alive, in their own twisted way. 

She more feels than sees Rick lingering for a while longer but when she refuses to react to him, he finally leaves. It’s better this way. No words will make that poor girl alive again and those of them that still are alive can’t afford to contemplate things they can’t change. 

It’s an hour or two later that her shifts end, and she slowly walks back to the prison. She wants to take a shower before she starts on the plans for shift rotation next week. She’s almost reached the sanctuary of C-block when she hears someone crying and turning her head she sees it’s Irene. The older woman had taken one look at Ahsley the day the girl joined them and decided to make her family. 

Irene’s visible grief makes Carol take a deep breath before she flees into the security of the prison walls. She can’t let this drag her down, just can’t. Passing Hershel and Beth on her way to her cell, she hardly returns their greetings. She needs to be alone right now, if only for a few minutes. That’s all it will take to restore her equilibrium.

She startles when she pulls back the curtain of her cell that is ensuring her a modicum of privacy and finds Daryl in there, leaning against the wall. What is he doing here? He was supposed to be out hunting today. A part of her is glad he’s back safe, another just wants him gone. She doesn’t want him to see her like this.

“She reminded me of her, too,” Daryl says quietly, his gaze direct. 

“Pardon me?”

“Ashley. Used to think that Sophia would’ve looked just like her if she’d made her age.”

“Stop.”

The word rings harsh in the otherwise quiet room.

She doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want his words to take root so she’s got to acknowledge them. She can’t, will break if she does. The road behind her might have shaped her into who she was but there is only the road ahead to walk on. 

Daryl looks at her for a long moment but honors her wish, nods only once in understanding and she let out a shaking breath. The little sign of distress is enough for him to step forward. He’s hesitant but he doesn’t stop until he’s got his arms around her, pressing her against his chest.

She doesn’t know what to say or think . That he decides to touch her on his own volition is rare enough that the surprise renders her mute. 

It feels good, though, the mere comfort of his touch, seeping through the fog of pain that wants to cloud her senses. For a few precious moments, she just allows herself to take what he’s giving her. He is warm, so very warm, his scent a mixture of sweat and something so unique Daryl she would recognize it anywhere. His heart is beating fast, but if it’s because touch makes him uncomfortable or because holding her has an effect on him, she doesn’t know. Even though they’ve kissed once, she doesn’t have an answer to this. 

They are… something. There’s no definition, this road hasn’t reached its destination, maybe it never will. She doesn’t know what she wants them to be, what she’s ready for, what he is ready for. 

It’s with reluctance she tries to pull away so she can give him his space, assure him that she is okay, or at least will be. Only that his grip on her tightens. 

“Not yet,” he says, his voice rough, tinted with emotions he’d never voice. 

Not yet… she’s okay with that. Hell, she could stay like this forever and feel safe in the security of his embrace. She already feels calmer, embraces the feeling, even when a part of her tells her she shouldn’t. 

How can you overcome grief if you don’t let it run its course? Letting it in, to accept it, though, no, she fears the grief would swallow her and leave her empty, mentally dead. No, she can’t think about this, so she tightens her own hold on him, breathes him in. 

Life won’t stop for her or anyone, but it can wait a minute or two longer.


	5. Emotional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a silly, fluffy, strange drabble.

Daryl hasn’t stopped fidgeting in what seems like an hour.

Turning to him, she raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain himself. He’s nervous, but why? 

It’s late in the afternoon on an early autumn day. It’s not too hot and not too cold and the few walkers clawing at the fence will easily be dealt with. 

She’s been looking forward to watch with Daryl all day, seeing it would give them a reprieve from the endless list of chores waiting for them at the prison, and she thought he’d feel the same way, but something is clearly wrong with him.

He stops moving altogether now, meets her gaze for a moment before he looks away. She wants to speak, to console him even though she doesn’t know what is bothering him, but he straightens a bit, looks at her again.

“Got ya somethin’,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to be heard.

She heard him alright.

Now it’s she who’s lost for words, too many emotions clogging her airways to allow her to voice any of the thoughts racing through her mind.

Why did he get her something? What did he get her? 

“I… ,” he almost growls. “It’s nothin’ special, ‘tis silly, really.”

He shakes his head, looking almost angry.

“Who says silly is not good?”

She doesn’t care if whatever he brought her is silly or not. Ed hasn’t given her any gifts after the first year, and the last gift she received was a little crocheted guardian angel Sophia got her for their last Christmas before the apocalypse. 

She can’t think of Sophia now or she will cry and she doesn’t need to guess how that would make Daryl feel after he had a hard enough time to let her know he got her something in the first place. He’s shuffling his feet as it is, kicking at the dirt on the ground. Throwing her a quick glance, he begins chewing at a cuticle, unaware of what he’s doing.

“Will you let me see?”

He refuses to look at her but he reaches into the pocket of his pants pulling out a bottle of soap bubbles, holding it out to her.

She smiles, can’t help it and she has to bite her lips not to laugh out. If she had made a thousand guesses, this would’ve never entered her minds. It’s the unlikeliest gift ever and yet, it fits. 

Daryl would never admit to it, but he’s got a keen eye, never misses the smallest detail. If anybody would see the beauty in everyday things it would be him. Under all the anger, lives a heart of gold. 

The urge to laugh abates as she has to fight the urge to cry for the child he has never been allowed to be. Did he ever experience the simple joy of blowing soap bubbles? He must have, or he wouldn’t have thought of bring her this gift.

She doesn’t voice the question, doesn’t allow her feelings to show when she speaks softly.

“Thank you.”

“Naw, not for that. Told ya, it’s silly.”

“Daryl, would you look at me?”

She waits as one second turns into the next. Time… racing when you don’t need it to, crawling when you think you need something to happen or you’ll crawl out of your skin.

Finally, he turns slightly. 

“Thank you,” she repeats. “I love it.”

“Pffft.”

She doesn’t give him time to think, doesn’t give herself time to think. Bridging the small distance, she gets on her toes, brushing her lips against his in a fleeting moment. She doesn’t think anybody has seen them and even if they have, right now she couldn’t care less.

Stepping back, she opens the bottle, blowing a several soap bubbles before he can react in any way. She watches how some of the iridescent bubbles flow towards the sky while others quickly sink down, two of them bursting when they come in contact with Daryl’s shirt. 

“Sophia loved to make soap bubbles,” she says, expecting to feel the usual twinge of pain in her gut when thinking of her daughter. For once it’s absent, the brightness of a good memory overpowering the devastating sadness of her loss.

“Once Sophia was invited to the birthday party of a girl in the neighbourhood. I think she was four or five. Anyway, the girl’s parents had hired a magician and one of his tricks involved soap bubbles.”

Daryl’s stopped chewing is cuticle, his hand dropping to his side. He’s listening to her, truly listening, as if what she has to say is important, at least to him. He’s the only one caring to listen in ever so long.

“He made big bubbles, made bubbles within bubbles with a straw. You should have seen the eyes of the children, full of wonder. They tried to catch the bubbles even knowing they’d burst. They believed that one of them would remain intact, that they could make the impossible happen.”

“Kids don’t know that some things aren’t possible.”

“True.”

Before the end of civilization, she often wished to be a child once more, to believe that everything’s possible, even a better life for Sophia and her. Now Sophia’s dead. It’s hell all over again.

She’s surrounded by friends, there’s Daryl but she’d give her life in a heartbeat if it brought her girl back. These thoughts are moot; you can only choose the path ahead, can’t change the past.

She looks up at Daryl who’s patiently waiting for her to continue or not, and she’s so glad he’s here.

“That day, this man made a big bubble, not releasing it into the air,” she says. “Then he’s taking up a kind of a pen and another straw, and I don’t know how, but he filled this bubble with smoke. It looked like a crystal ball that was keeping a veil on what the future might bring. He released the bubble and one of the kids grabbed at it. It burst, of course, and the smoke slowly sank towards the ground. It….,” she trails off.   
She can’t describe the way she felt this day, how the fragile beauty of this bubble reminded her of her hopes, one after the other bursting like this bubble, leaving nothing but pain and confusion, how the smoke seemed like the cloud she seemed to be living under.

She almost laughs out even though she feels like sighing. This wasn’t the story she wanted to tell. She wanted to tell him of the magic of this day, of Sophia’s laughter, the way they were allowed to be themselves for a day. 

His hand on her shoulder brings her out of her reverie, and she’s realizing she’s looking at the ground, lost in thought.

“Don’t,” he says. “That’s life. Without pain we wouldn’t know joy. One coin, two sides.”

“Yeah.” Her voice is hoarse and she hates it. 

Daryl withdraws his hand but he smiles. 

“So that was a good day, huh?”

“It was.”

“Good.”

He takes the bottle out of her hands, blowing what seems a myriad of tiny bubbles into the air. 

“What’s that?” they hear Rick calling from the ground, and the confusion in his voice makes them both laugh out. Even in midst of the apocalypse life can be good some days, and today is one of those days.


	6. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been ages. :( Sorry. Letters E and F will follow at a later time. Ghost kinda seemed a fitting prompt for almost Halloween.

The fog is thick, almost impenetrable and for the first time in months she feels truly alone on her way across the prison grounds.

Considering the fact she can’t see more than a few yards, she doesn’t see much sense in manning the guard tower but she doesn’t question it either when it‘s time for her to relieve Maggie.

She smiles when the younger woman is overly eager to be out of here. They all know Glenn will be waiting for her. These two are a vivid reminder that there is sense in fighting for their lives, in building a future that might never come to fruition

All alone now, she’s looking out and she can’t see any walkers, just hear them, although even their sounds are muted by the blanket of fog.

Shivering, she pulls her thin scarf tighter around herself but to no avail. Back at home, she had had a thick, fuzzy cardigan that had been ugly as hell but warm and cozy. It’s been long gone, belongs to a different life.  
She has no idea how long she’s been staring into the distance, fighting the wave of sadness inside her that wants to drag her under when she hears the tower’s trap door.

It’s too early for Rick to take over, so she turns, frowning. It’s Daryl and it seems one look at her is enough, as he is already pulling his poncho over his head, holding it out to her.

“Here.“

She shakes her head.

“No, but thank you.”

“Here,” he says again, the scowl on his face making it obvious he won’t take no for an answer.

Holding his gaze for another few seconds, she relents with a sigh although she is thankful for the extra warmth when she pulls the colorful cloth over her head.

It smells like Daryl and it’s only the fact Daryl is watching her, that prevents her from holding the poncho up to her nose to inhale deeply. For god’s sake, she’s not fifteen any longer and this all is as far from the romance novel scenarios of her youth as life can be.

“What are you doing here?” she finally asks, turning her head to resume looking out.

“Lookin’ after you.”

She laughs out.

“What for? I can’t see a thing and no thing can see me either.”

He doesn’t acknowledge her remark and they are silent for a long while. They are standing right beside each other, and yet, they could be oceans apart.

Oh, she wants to sidle closer, she wants to talk to him but she’s not sure that acting on these thoughts would be well-received and even though she’s not scared alone here, she’s thankful for his company.

“Used to hate fog,” he says after a while.

“Why?”

He takes his time to answer but she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak again. If he wants to tell her, he will.

“Sometimes we got it so bad, I couldn’t see the house from the driveway. Then I never knew if our dad was home yet or not.”

She understands. One time she hadn’t noticed Ed coming home because fog had shrouded everything in a thick blanket. He’d caught her reading some glossy magazine she’d bought with some money she had put aside. Ed hadn’t been amused and she’d been in the ER an hour later.

She doesn’t want to think of this. This part of her life is over. She speaks without thinking.

“When I was younger fog used to remind me of Halloween, of candy, and when I was even younger it made me think of ghosts.”

She chances a glance at him, finds him frowning.

“What?” she says.

“You’re smilin’,” he says.

“Yeah. I know it’s silly but when I was still a child, I really thought fog like that made it possible for dead people to connect with their families again. It was a story a girl told me in elementary school and I couldn’t forget it.”

“Ghosts… pfff… it’s bad enough we got walkers crawling all over the place.”

He’s right and she feels the smile fading on her face. Without wanting to, she’s got to think of her daughter, how Sophia had stepped out of this barn. No, it hadn’t been Sophia, it had been a creature wearing her daughter’s clothes, her face. Her daughter had been gone by then. She feels the sudden sting of tears, doesn’t want Daryl to see. Staring out into the fog blindly, she blinks. She’s angry with herself for scanning the area even harder now, as if the ghost of Sophia could step out of this fog any second. Sophia is dead. 

“Sorry,” Daryl mumbles, and she wonders if he knows what she’s been thinking. It wouldn’t surprise her.

“Don’t be.”

She clears her throat.

“Have I ever told you how it came we ended up at the quarry camp in the first place?”

He shakes his head and she takes another moment to take a deep breath.

“We were late to leave, you know. News had spread days ago. All of our neighbors had already left to try and find a safe place. But Ed wanted to stay.”

“Jack ass.”

Her gaze meets Daryl and he looks at her as if he’s willing her to contradict him. She won’t.

“Well, as I said, Ed refused to leave his own house, thought people were way too trusting when it came to the government, so we stayed, hid in the house. I knew eventually we’d run out of food and be in big trouble but I was more afraid of Ed than of anything else lurking outside there. It didn’t seem real.”

“What made ya change your mind?”

“Ed’s mind, you mean. Well, it was a night like tonight and we were hiding in the bedroom upstairs when there was this creaking sound.”

She can remember it as if it was yesterday. It had been way too silent, no cars, no airplanes, no people and her own breathing had seemed way too loud. The creaking outside had sent a shiver right down her back.

“It was Sophia’s swing. It hadn’t been used or oiled in ages. But I didn’t know what I was hearing right away and when I looked out, all I saw was the fog.”

She shivers and Daryl pulls her close so they stand with her back against his front, his arms around her waist now, resting on her stomach. For a moment she forgets about the past, is too surprised by the present and the man who simply seems to know when she needs him. In spite of giving her his poncho, he’s still warm and she feels her eyes falling close while she immerges herself in this sensory overload of the feeling of him against her.

“What happened?”

His voice makes her snap out of it and she barely manages to suppress a sigh.

“Ed sent me out to have a look.”

“Good for him he’s dead already.”

She puts her hands over his, rubbing soothing circles on the back of his hands with her thumbs.

“Hey, I’m here and nobody can change the past.”

“Yeah,” he grunts.

He doesn’t agree, she knows, but he waits for her to continue.

“So I went out there, and I just couldn’t see a thing. Finally I realized the sound was coming from Sophia’s swing, so I went there.”

She pauses for a moment, reluctant to remember.

“It was our neighbor’s daughter. She was only six. Only that she…she wasn’t herself any longer, had transformed. Her eyes, they were… dead and she was wearing that cute, little pink dress. She wanted to pass the swing but couldn’t, and she was trying to surge forward again and again…”

“Psst,” he says and only now she realizes she’s crying and that he had heard it in her voice. 

“She was such a sweet little girl but staring back at me was that… monster. I screamed, ran back to the house and we left not an hour later.” It’s hard not compare the girl – Lee – to Sophia, to think of what her daughter had become but she shoves the thought away, has to.

“Did Ed go and took care of the girl?”

“No, he didn’t even go out to take a look himself.”

“Coward.”

She turns in his embrace, feels her face flushing at the close proximity.

“It’s the past, Daryl. They’re all dead now.”

“Nah. You’re still here.”

“Yeah, I am.”

She has survived. Against all odds. Sometimes she wonders if it weren’t better that the crowd of walkers had gotten to her at the farm after all but most of the time she feels useful here, needed and when it comes to Daryl even wanted sometimes.

He keeps her gaze for longer than usual before he looks away, only to look at her lips next. She knows what he wants, wants it, too. Getting up on her toes, she gently brushes his lips with hers, the gentle contact sending quite a different shiver down her back this time. 

She pulls away and before either of them can jinx it, turns in his embrace again, rather having this much than nothing at all. 

“So do you have any scary stories to tell?”

“Not, really, but there was one time that Merle and I…,”

Listening to him, she stares out into the fog again.


End file.
